


Last Call

by chakaswan, mirandamyth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Birthdays, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, First Date, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Gabriel is a dick, Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Mechanic Dean, Moving In Together, POV Dean Winchester, Phone Calls & Telephones, Phone Sex, Pranks, Sexting, Shower Sex, Top Dean, comedian!Gabriel, i just have a thing for showers ok, just as resolved romantic tension, not gonna lie to you, super duper resolved sexual tension, tech support!Cas, this gets explict fast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-06-10 18:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6969667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chakaswan/pseuds/chakaswan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirandamyth/pseuds/mirandamyth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Awful AU #345<br/>“You’ve been prank calling me every single day for almost a year now and I’m so fucking sick of it so I got my computer-gifted friend to trace your number and now I’m standing outside your apartment pounding on the door and if you think I’m just gonna leave without ripping you a new one you’re wrong motherfucker.” AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean wakes up to his phone ringing and groans. He'd been in the middle of a particularly excellent dream. He rolls over to check the clock, knowing that it's going to read three am. The same time he's been awoken every night for the last two months. He answers, knowing that if he ignores it, it'll just keep ringing.

"What?"

"Do you know what a gynecologist and a pizza man have in common?"

"Just spit it out, motherfucker."

"They both get to smell the goods, but neither of them gets to eat it."

"Ha-ha, very funny. Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Not yet Dean-o. Don't you wanna know why there are no cats on Mars?"

"I'm sure you're gonna tell me." Dean sighs, hopefully it's only a three joke night. Last Thursday, this asshole kept him up until five. Dean hung up on him, and he just kept calling back.

"Curiosity." Dean considers just going to sleep without hanging up, but last time he'd tried that, the guy had blown an air horn down the line. Psychopath or not, he was dedicated. "You get it, right? Curiosity killed the cat, the Mars rover, etcetera."

"Yeah, man, I get your dumb joke."

"Well, if you're going to be rude about it, fine." There's a melodramatic huff over the line. "Why can't you teach a Jedi calculus?"

 "Because only the Sith deal in absolutes."

 "You are literally no fun. That was my line."

"It's damn hard to be any fun at three in the morning. Go the fuck to sleep, man."

"Fine, fine, I'll let you get your beauty rest." Dean hangs up before he finishes his sentence. He doesn't go back to sleep, instead he rolls out of bed and walks into his living room. Skyrim is paused on the TV, and the redhead on his couch is typing furiously.

"Did you get him?"

"Does Han love Leia?"

"What would I do without you, Charlie?"

"Probably go insane. I can't imagine being tortured with bad jokes for a year."

"It wasn't so bad when he called during the day, sometimes he's actually funny, but it's getting fucking ridiculous."

"Well, it looks like he's not only in town, but less than five miles away."

Three forty-five finds him on the doorstep of 365b N Claymont street, knocking at the door with his whole forearm. "C'mon motherfucker, I know you're in there!" When the door swings inward, Dean stumbles. He catches himself awkwardly against the frame, and looks up into the thoroughly enraged face of the hottest man he's ever seen.

"Is there a reason you're waking me up at four in the morning on a Thursday?" Dean swallows at the sound of the man's voice, the rough gravel of it working to make him forget why he's there. "Or are you just an asshole?" 

And Dean remembers, "I'm the asshole!? You've been prank calling me for a fucking year! Do you know how humiliating it was to explain to my family why I had to take a forty minute call at dinner on Christmas Eve, because my phone wouldn't stop going off? Or _last_  fucking August when you kept me awake for three hours by blowing an air horn in my ear when I started snoring! How 'bout last goddamn week, when my phone rang for six hours straight? Or an hour ago, when you called to tell me about gynecologists and pizza men?" He's breathing heavy when he finishes, very aware of how close they're still standing and doubting himself because he'd remember that voice (and he certainly wouldn't mind waking up to it.) To his relief, a look of annoyed comprehension comes over the face of the dark haired man in the doorway. Dean further doubts that this man is his phantom caller when he notices the faint pink pillow lines tracing down his cheeks. The man sighs, pulling Dean's attention to his lips. And what lips they were. Dean can imagine all the beautiful and obscene things he'd like to watch them do. He licks his own bottom lip unconsciously.

"That would be my brother." He glances into the dark townhouse, before stepping aside. "Would you like to come in? You came all the way out here, you deserve to be saved from Gabriel."

Dumbstruck, Dean nods and follows him into the kitchen, wincing as lights are flipped on. After the initial shock he's grateful for the light, because it gives him a better look at the man before him. He's barefoot, toes peeking from under the hem of blue pajama pants that ride low on his hips, the tight grey tank he's wearing showing off a slim, solid torso and toned arms. To top it all off, the guy had a head of hair that was just begging to have fingers run through it, and eyes blue enough to drown in. 

"Can I get you something to drink?"

Dean flushes, realizing he'd been unabashedly checking this dude out, in his own kitchen, after waking him up and yelling at him. "You got any beer?"

Hot guy opens the fridge and pull out two bottles, cracking them open on a bottle opener built into the wall over the trash can. He hands one to Dean and takes a long pull from the other. Dean's eyes follow the motion of the man's throat as he swallows, and clears his own, "Thanks, man. I'm sorry you got pulled into this."

Blue eyes lets out a long suffering sigh, "Unfortunately I was born into it."

"Having a kitchen party, Cassie? At four am? On a weeknight? I'm so proud!" And that is definitely the voice that's been annoying him for a year. He can finally put a face to his tormentor. He's a small guy with a mildly evil glint in his eye. "And look at this hunk. I'm impressed. You managed to snag a real life Ken doll. Although, hopefully more anatomically correct."

"Is he always such a dick?" Dean says around the lip of his bottle, eyebrows quirking up as he takes a drink.

"Generally." 'Cassie's' lips quirk up into a smile, "But you already know all about that, don't you?"

"C'mon, guys, you don't have to talk about me like I'm not here." Gabriel whines, "I can't believe you're trashing me to your booty calls, Cas."

"He's here for you, Gabriel. Apparently you've been harassing —" His eyes shift back to Dean, "Sorry, with all the yelling, I never got your name."

"Dean."

The smirk fades from Gabriel's face, the glint in his eye being quickly replaced by something akin to fear. "How are you here?"

Dean shrugs, "I've got a friend who hacks Super PACs for fun. Tracing your call was a milk run for her."

"Well, you got it, pal, I'll stop calling you." Gabriel begins backing out of the room, "No harm, no foul, right? All's well that ends funny, and I can probably work this into one hell of a punchline."

"Gabriel." Cas's voice has a dark edge to it, and goddamn if that's not doing something for Dean, "Do not tell me you've been prank calling Dean _for a bit._ "

"Not for just any bit, Castiel! _For the most popular bit I've ever had!_ " Gabriel whips out his phone, "My YouTube channel has tripled in hits and subscriptions! I have actual fans! They call themselves tricksters, and come to my shows in, like, T-Shirts with air horns on them!" He turns the screen to face them and there's a video of Gabe on the phone; the hit counter beneath it reads 558,264. "This is, like, my ticket to the big time! Last week I was asked to do a _podcast_! Like, not even my own. Someone _else_ wanted _me_ to be on _theirs_! It's comedy gold, bro. I couldn-" Dean punches him. Square on the jaw, and the sting in his knuckles is immensely satisfying. As is the sly little grin that creeps on to Cas's face as Gabriel howls.

"You're lucky it was only your face." Cas throws a bag of frozen peas at his brother, "I would have gone for the balls."

"Cas, I knew I liked you." Dean sees the barest hint of red in Cas's cheeks, and his mind races. He wants to see if Cas blushes like that with his lips wrapped around Dean's cock, if the tops of his ears flush when Dean moans his name. Wonders if Cas will hold this eye contact while Dean's got his mouth around him or when he's got himself buried deep inside Cas. He hopes he'll get the chance to find out what it's like to come while those eyes stare into his soul. Movement in his periphery tears his eyes away and he reaches out to stop Gabriel from escaping. "You're not going anywhere, asshole."

"Look, man, I get it, ok? No more calls, scout's honor." He holds up three fingers earnestly, and Dean actually believes him, a little bit.

"Better not be. Now I know who you are, and I can make your life hell, capisce?"

"Yeah, capisco." Dean releases the grip he had on his shirt, and Gabriel retreats, presumably back to where ever the hell he came from.

"Dean." And Jesus, he wants to hear all the ways his name can sound in that baritone. "I know he has wronged you, but he is still my brother. Can I be reasonably assured you're not plotting his murder?"

"Well, Cas, I _was_ considering it on the way over, but there's one big problem with that plan." Dean grins at the confused tilt to Cas's head, the quizzical frown that he just wants to kiss away. "I would never have a chance with his hot brother if I ganked him."

He sees the shift in Castiel and his grin grows wider. The stare which had been puzzled and amused turns predatory and suddenly Cas is just there, all up in his personal space, hand snaking behind his neck and it happens. Cas crashes his mouth into Dean's, tongue slowly working its way into his mouth. Dean can hardly believe this is happening as he slides his hands down Cas's sides, pulls them closer, lets Cas back him up against the counter. Cas grinds himself deliciously into Dean and groans into his mouth. Dean takes it as an invitation and slides his hands down to grip Cas's ass and it's as firm and perfect as he imagined it to be. Cas catches his fingers in Dean's hair, pulling him back and breaking the kiss. Dean's met with lust-blown eyes and pushes his hips forward lightly, loving the electricity that shoots through his veins as their erections meet. Cas must enjoy it too, if the broken " _Dean_." that escapes him is any indication.

"You wanna take this somewhere more private, Cas?" Dean runs a hand under the back of his shirt, slipping his fingers along Cas's spine, tracing over to splay them wide against his ribs. Cas nods eagerly and pulls away, leading Dean upstairs to a sparsely furnished bedroom. The door is barely closed before he's kissing Cas again, backing him toward the bed, sighing in relief as Cas undoes his fly and palms his cock through his boxers. Dean slides his hands under the waist of Castiel's pajamas, pleasantly surprised when all he finds is smooth skin. As Cas hits the bed, Dean pulls his pants fully off, exposing muscular thighs and the cock he's been curious about since the door opened.

And, Jesus, it's been a while — the sight of Cas's cock has him salivating. He hurriedly kicks his way out of his jeans, pulling his shirt over his head, and he can feel Cas's eyes on him the whole time. He catches sight of Cas on the bed ― eyes dark and raking over Dean's body, shirt rucked up around his chest, one hand lazily stroking himself ― Dean can't help but enjoy the view. He watches as Cas runs his thumb over the head catching precome that's just started to bead, and brings it to his mouth, swirling his tongue over the pad of his thumb. Dean closes the foot of distance and fits his hands under Cas's knees, sliding his fingers up the outside of Cas's thighs to hold his hips steady. Dean leans forward and runs his tongue up from the base of Castiel's cock to close his lips around the head, sucking gently. He flattens  his tongue against the underside, applying pressure with the tip as he starts to bob his head. He can feel Cas fighting to buck his hips up, urging him along, but he tightens his grip and continues at the torturously slow pace. Cas groans as he applies extra suction on the way back up, his lips tight around the shaft. He pulls all the way off and releases Cas's hip with one hand, wrapping it around the base of his cock and jerking lightly as he looks up to meet blue eyes. It's every bit as hot as he thought it would be, and so much better.

He holds Cas's gaze as he lowers his mouth back down, relaxing his jaw and sinking even as he feels the head hit the back of his throat. He releases his grip on his hip, letting Cas thrust up as he molds his lips tightly around the shaft, relaxing his throat as Cas fucks into his mouth. He feels tentative fingers curl into his hair, and moans around a mouthful of cock, increasing the suction as Cas tightens his grip. Dean slides one hand down to fondle Cas's balls, letting a fingertip brush against his hole.

Cas pulls him up by the hair, "Lube. Top drawer. Nightstand." He's breathing heavily as he releases his grip, cock covered in Dean's saliva. Dean reaches into the drawer blindly, grateful to feel the familiar crinkle of condom wrappers beneath a slim plastic bottle. He tosses them on the bed next to Cas before reaching under the smaller man and shoving him further onto the bed. Dean climbs up after him and hovers over Castiel, knees bracketing his hips. Castiel surges up and catches his mouth, licking into it hungrily, arms snaking around his back to pull Dean down onto him, groaning into his mouth as their cocks fit alongside each other. Dean can't stop the way his hips twitch forward seeking friction, wanting to feel that electricity dance through his veins again.

Dean shifts his legs, nudging Cas's apart with one knee, groping for the lube. His hand hits it and he pops the cap with his thumb. He's forced to break the kiss, push himself back onto his knees, and Cas lets out a keening whine at the loss of contact. He squeezes the lubricant onto his hand and reaches down, resting his fingers against Cas. "This what you want?" Cas nods, rolling his hips toward Dean's hand. "Gotta hear you say it, Cas."

"Yes, fuck." He meets Dean's eyes, predatory and so obviously wanting, "Dean, I want to feel you inside me."

And how is Dean supposed to say no to that? He presses in with one finger, and Castiel pushes himself down on it wantonly. He quickly moves on to two, and Cas opens easily for him, the prettiest sounds falling from his lips as Dean works a third in. Castiel's whole body stiffens when Dean finds what he was looking for, letting his fingers skim over Cas's prostate a second time before moving to add a fourth when Cas stops him. "Dean. Now."

While Dean grasps for the condom and rolls it on, Cas shifts to his hands and knees, cock hanging heavy between his legs. Dean positions himself carefully, hissing as Cas rocks backwards onto his cock, teasing at the head with that tight ring of muscle. Dean steels himself and pushes through, groaning with Cas as he fills him, stilling as he bottoms out and leaning forward to press soft kisses along Castiel's spine. Cas starts to rock against him shallowly, urging him to motion. He's so hot and tight and fucking perfect, taking Dean's cock and moaning his name in that rough baritone. It's more intense than Dean could have imagined. His thrusts become erratic, harder to control, and he reaches down to wrap his hand around Cas's cock, squeezing and twisting lightly at the base, before jacking him in earnest, shifting his hips, searching for that spot again. When he finds it, Cas clenches around him, gasping. He thrusts at the same angle roughly, feeling his own release pooling in his gut. It's not long, though, before Cas is coming all over his hand, tightening around him as he thrusts shallowly and his orgasm washes over him. Castiel collapses underneath of him, and they lay like that, panting for a moment before Dean pulls himself out and ties off the condom.

Cas rolls over, grinning. "That was worth it."

Dean finds his shirt on the floor and uses it to wipe the come off of Cas, "Worth what?"

"Waking up at four am." Cas kicks his way under the covers, tossing away the sheet he'd been kneeling on. "You're welcome to stay. But I'm going to sleep."

Dean collapses next to him and drifts off, vaguely aware of Castiel's head on his chest and the leg thrown across his own.

 

 

"Have you tried turning it off and back on again?" The low rumble of Cas's voice wakes him from a particularly restful sleep.  He squints one eye open to see Castiel sitting up, laptop open in front of him, phone pressed to one ear. "Good, now wait thirty seconds and plug it back in." Cas turns his head to catch Dean watching him and presses a hand to the bottom of his phone, "Good morning, Dean. I'll just be a minute."

"Mornin' Cas," Dean yawns widely, running his hand over his face, "Time 'sit?"

"Okay, go ahead and plug it back in now." He says into the phone, "What color are the lights flashing? Good, now open your laptop, see if you can load a website. You can? Excellent. Is there anything else I can assist you with, Ms. Talbot? Okay, have a great day, ma'am." Cas hangs up with a sigh, "It's seven thirty."

"Shit." Dean groans, "I gotta be at work in an hour." He pushes himself out of the bed reluctantly, typing out a reply to Charlie's alarmed series of messages, assuring her that he is, in fact, alive, and promising details later if she drives Sam to school as he pulls on last night's jeans and boots. He's reaching for his shirt when he feels fabric hit his back.

"Your shirt is dirty, wear this one."

Dean just pulls the soft tee over his head — a little snug, but it'll have to work — Cas was right, his shirt isn't wearable. "Thanks, man."

Cas is smiling softly at him, back in his pajama bottoms, he expects it to be awkward, but it really isn't; there's none of the heavy regret borne of his usual one night stands, and Dean wishes he could just skip work and stay here, take his time exploring the body before him. Everything happened so quickly last night, whatever strange chemistry they had going on mingling with high emotions and exhaustion had led to amazing, if short lived, sex. It could be a great day lounging around with Cas, learning what made him tick, how to get him worked up. Dean wonders absently what Cas does with his days off, if he sleeps in, if they'd go out for breakfast, or if Cas cooks. Unfortunately he won't find that out, there's no way he can skip out on Bobby when he's short handed, and Cas is apparently already working. "So, tech support?"

"Yes, it can be very predictable work, but I am helping people." Cas starts out of the room and Dean follows, "What do you do?"

"I, uh, I work for my uncle, he's got an auto shop."

"So you're in the business of helping people too, then."

Dean stops short as he enters the kitchen, because there's Gabriel, and, fuck, when does this guy sleep? Their entrance hasn't gone unnoticed, either. "Respect, Cassie. Didn't think Dean-o swung your way."

"Yeah, well, there's a lot you don't know about me, jackass."

"I know you have an affinity for pie, drive some big black nightrider-looking classic car, and work at Singer Auto. I also know you've got a little brother," Gabriel raises a hand over his head, "Yeh tall, floppy hair, real brainiac."

"You're gonna tell me exactly how you know that." Dean feels mildly violated. He knows Gabriel isn't a real threat, but Sammy shouldn't have to deal with the douchebag.

"How do you think I got your number in the first place? You thought you were leaving it for Kali, but we split that tip jar, buddy. You're kind of an easy mark, what with that bean pole of a brother taking up a four top for two and a half hours every day."

"Look, man, I don't have time for this. Just, don't mess with my brother. He's a good kid."

Gabriel lets out an exaggerated gasp, "I wouldn't!" He looks mildly scandalized, as though the whole reason Dean's here wasn't his own antics.

"Whatever, man, just, don't." Dean sighs. He shoots Cas a look that hopefully says both, 'I'm sorry for arguing with your brother in you kitchen after the best sex I've had in a year,' and 'Please save me.'

Cas seems to get it, and offers him a sympathetic smile. "Come with me, Dean, I'll show you out." Dean follows after him eagerly, glad to be getting away from Gabriel.

He's standing on Cas's steps once again before he speaks, "So, uh, I had a great time last night. You maybe want to grab a bite to eat sometime?"

"I would like that very much." Cas furrows his brow, "That is, if you're willing to accept calls originating from this address."

The seriousness with which he says it catches Dean off guard, but he can see the mirth in the blue eyes locked with his own, so he shoots him a wink, "As long as it's you, Cas, I can make an exception."

 

Even with a quick stop for a change of clothes, Dean rolls into the shop five minutes before they open. A little later than he likes, but if that's the price he has to pay, so be it. From the moment he pulls the first car in, he knows it's going to be a rough day. Girl had apparently run over a nail before vacation; leaving her car to leak all the air from her tire and gravity to slowly destroy the rim. So he has to explain to an upset nineteen year old that, no, it won't be a twenty dollar patch job, and that it would probably be cheaper to replace than repair. After a few hopeless tears and a call to her mom, he places the order for her wheel and tells her her car will be ready in a few days. The next eight hours are a series of estimates; pulling cars in to diagnose problems, only to have the owners decide that it can wait, or that the price Dean quotes them is too high. It's an incredibly frustrating day, capped with the fact that Cas hasn't even texted him. He knows it's ridiculous, but it had felt like, maybe, they had had something, however brief their meeting was. And, damn, if Dean doesn't want to see him again. When he heads across the street to collect his brother he's almost forgotten the five feet of reasons he has to avoid the place like the plague.

He's quickly reminded when the bell signaling his entrance is accompanied by "Dean-o!" ringing out from the order window.

Sam looks up to spot him, "Friend of yours, Dean?"

"Gabriel." Dean grinds out, instantly on edge. "That's the jackass that's been prank calling me. Charlie found him."

"He works _here_?" Sam guffaws, "Dude, you realize he's the one who makes 'the best burger you've ever had,' right?"

Dean groans, because that's just his luck, isn't it? "C'mon, Sammy, let's go home."

Sam's still snickering as he packs up and follows Dean out to the Impala. He manages to get himself under control after Dean threatens to leave him on the side of the road, but there's a smirk that lingers on his lips as they pull up in front of their building. Dean climbs out before Sam even has his door open. He takes the stairs two at a time up to the apartment, leaving the door open behind him, because their neighborhood isn't _that_ bad, and Sammy is only a minute behind him. Heading into the bathroom, he turns the water on to heat up, ducking across the hall for his robe. Maybe he can wash away the pit of desperation in his stomach. He's practically pining for a guy he'd known for less than twelve hours.

The bathroom is steamy and warm when he steps back in, shucking his greasy clothes and the snug tee shirt he'd never taken off. Stepping under the scorching spray, he takes his time shampooing his hair, scratching at his scalp. He scrubs the motor oil from the skin of his hands and arms; washes his face with the scrub Sam buys (and Dean makes fun of, but damn does his face feel clean when he uses it). He lathers up his chest, trying (and failing) not to think of other hands that had run over it this morning. He shakes his head in the hope that will clear it, as though Cas was just written into the etch-a-sketch of his mind, not seared into his memory. All he's rewarded with is the image he'd conjured up in that kitchen — Cas on his knees, jaw loose, lips stretched obscenely around Dean's cock.

He continues to scrub his body, resolutely avoiding his (very interested) cock — working his way down his legs, taking the time to clean between each toe. Even as he washes the day's worth of sweat and grease from his body, his mind assaults him with images of Castiel. The way he had taken charge, asking for what he wanted; the sounds that had fallen from him as Dean was seated inside of him; the intensity of his kiss.

Before he realizes what he's doing, he's got a soapy hand wrapped around his cock, shoulder leaned against the wall as he squeezes at the base and runs his hand up the shaft. His eyes drift closed as he does, mind supplying him with endless images of blue eyes and chapped lips — he imagines Cas is standing here with him, that it's his hand pulling Dean closer and closer to orgasm. Dean lets out a broken moan at the thought of having that thick cock again, of how it might feel inside of him, the stretch and burn of it filling him up. He works his other hand behind himself to run lightly across the sensitive skin behind his balls, and press against his own hole. He hasn't done this for himself in years, but he fucks himself open on his own hand, twisting his arm just so for the leverage to massage his own prostate. He can't help the " _Cas_ " that falls out of his mouth in a breathy moan as he comes. The water has started to cool significantly by time he shuts it off, and he steps out of the shower just as his phone starts to ring.

His screen reads _Unknown Caller,_ but the number is local. "Hello?" 

"Hello, Dean."

His stomach flips, winding up somewhere in his throat at the sound of that voice coming through his phone "He-hey, Cas." He can feel his face heating up, only minutes ago he'd been imagining Cas saying some much less innocuous things.

"I'm not interrupting, am I? I could call back." His voice sounds hesitant, and Dean panics.

"NO! I mean, no, I'm not busy at all. Just getting out of the shower in fact." God, that sounds like a come on, and Dean winces inwardly.

"Oh." Cas clears his throat, "Well, since you're, uh, clean now, I was thinking I could take you up on dinner."

"Yeah, Cas." Dean has to stop himself from punching the air, but he can't help the grin that splits his face, "That sounds awesome."

Castiel tells him about this new Mexican place his friends have been raving over, and Dean agrees to pick him up in forty minutes. They hang up and Dean stares dumbly at his phone, almost disbelieving his luck. The moment is broken by Sam pounding on the door, yelling about consideration when sharing a bathroom. But even the bitchface Sammy throws at him as he leaves the bathroom can't dampen his mood.

He hunts through his closet for the jeans he keeps in the back, the ones that are almost _too_ tight and make his ass a work of art. The green Henley he chooses stretches across his chest almost as snugly as the shirt he'd borrowed from Cas this morning. He throws his favorite leather jacket on over top and coaxes his hair into place before pulling his boot on.

His chest feels tight as he pulls up in front of Cas's place seven minutes early. He's more nervous now than the night he took Rhonda Hurley to the drive-in, and he had been about to get his cherry popped. But it's fine, that's why he got here so early, to collect himself. At two minutes of eight, he steps out of his car and makes his way to the doorstep that started it all.

He's barely knocked before Cas is pulling the door open and ushering him down the stairs. Dean is confused until he hears Gabriel yelling from inside, "Don't forget, Cassie! Safe sex is —" He's (thankfully) cut off by Cas slamming the door.

The scowl on Cas's face when he turns around is fearsome, but it quickly falls from his face as he meets Dean's eyes. "He started that conversation with a bagel and a banana. It was rather graphic."

Dean can't help himself. He lets out a snort of laughter and loses the battle with the grin pulling at his cheeks. "I'm sorry."

"What for? I can imagine if you weren't the one sitting through twenty minutes of inter-food group penetration, it would be rather funny." Fuck, how can he use the word penetration when talking about food and piqué Dean's interest? It's not even a sexy word, but in that rough baritone Dean thinks the phone book would probably have him weak in the knees. How is he supposed to sit through a whole meal and listen to that?

He swallows thickly and, temporarily mute, leads the way to his car. The low whistle from behind him as they reach the car unsticks his tongue, and he turns, running a hand lightly over the hood. "Yeah, uh, Cas, meet Baby."

"She's beautiful." Cas walks around to the passenger side, eyes flickering between the car and Dean. "Late sixties? She must be a lot of work to maintain."

"Yeah, sixty-seven, actually." Dean's impressed at how close Cas was, and grins, "She used to be my dad's. He crashed it when I was sixteen, and told me I could have it if I could fix it." Dean laughs, climbing in, and reaching across to unlock Cas's door. "Pretty sure I know her bones better than my own."

Dean's heart swells as Cas nods appreciatively, any person who can respect his baby is a person worth knowing. Cas seems to fit perfectly into the passenger seat, directing Dean towards Pablo's with ease. They manage to find semi-decent parking after Dean adamantly refuses to let "Some punk ass valet take my girl for a cruise." Cas just smiles indulgently and points out a parallel spot on the end of the next block.  

Fixtures hang over tables to create small islands of light, serving well to point out just how many people are already dining. Dean is relived to find there's only a twenty minute wait for a table, and the bar is fairly empty. When their buzzer goes off, Dean is in the middle of an anecdote about Nair and Sam's shampoo. The harsh sound of plastic against lacquered wood startles both of them, even though it's what they've been waiting for. Dean lets Cas lead as they follow the hostess to their booth, taking his time to appreciate the view. Because, damn, Castiel cleans up nice (not that Dean didn't appreciate him in pajamas.)

Conversation, which had flowed so freely at the bar, is suddenly dried up by menus. Even after their waitress has taken their orders, the awkwardness lingers. Dean can feel the nervous sweat beading in the small of his back, he so badly wants to not fuck this up. It had been so easy in the car, but now? With Cas sitting across from him? Dean can barely bring himself to look up from where he's been peeling the label from his beer.

Cas clears his throat, "I frosted a cake with shaving cream."

"You— What?" Dean's eyes move on their own accord, catching Castiel's.

"It had been a particularly trying week. People kept calling about sand in their laptops, our air conditioning was out, and Gabriel decided to butter the floor outside of the shower. While I was in it." Cas's brow furrows slightly, "I chipped a tooth and cut my chin open. I was furious. So I stooped to his level. Spent the day baking, the whole house smelled amazing by time he got home. And there, on the counter, I'd left the cake, one slice gone. Whipped cream on strawberry has always been Gabriel's favorite cake, but I rather ruined it for him after that." There's a small smile gracing his lips at the memory, "I watched him take the first bite. The _look_ on his face."

"That's downright devious, Cas." Dean chokes out through the laughter the story has inspired, "I had no idea you were an evil genius."

"Nor did he," Cas smiles widely, "but I haven't been a victim of one of his pranks for about a year now."

"That's a win in my book, man." There's something about Cas's story that's tickling at his brain, but before he can work out exactly what it is their food is arriving. Dean's stomach growls lightly at the smell, reminding him that he skipped out on lunch. He burns his mouth on the cheese with the first bite, but it's delicious nonetheless. There's a soft groan from across the table, and Dean looks up in time to see Cas close his mouth around his taco for a second time. Dean's never been so jealous of a tortilla in his life. The sound Castiel makes as he pulls the food away from his mouth borders on indecent. He hums lightly as he chews, eyes slipping shut, jaw working slowly, as if he's trying memorize the taste. Dean's own food sits, temporarily forgotten, in front of him as he loses himself watching Castiel enjoy his meal. Dean wonders if his cooking would elicit a similar response, already planning out what he would make for Cas first. He's planning second and third and fourth meals before he can stop himself, and he's struck by how strange it all is. He only met the man this morning, and already he's thinking about the future. When Cas opens his eyes again, Dean becomes aware of just how long he's been staring.

"These make me very happy."  Cas says sheepishly, tips of his ears belying his embarrassment.

Dean winks, "I can tell. You sure you don't need a minute alone?"

"Quite sure." Castiel's eyes track as Dean raises the second bit of enchilada to his mouth, purposefully groaning around it, enjoying the flush that creeps up Cas's face.

 

Driving Cas home, Dean can't believe just how quickly the night has passed. He walks Cas to his door, "So, uh, I had a great time tonight."

"Me too, Dean." And Cas is only inches from him now, keys in hand, but seemingly just as reluctant as Dean is to part. "I'd like it if we could do this again."

"Yeah, definitely. Next time, I'll cook for you." Dean grins wide and Cas surges forward enthusiastically, capturing his mouth in a kiss that may have started chaste, but soon has him backing Castiel against the door. He's wondering if maybe Cas will invite him in for a nightcap when he pulls away, hand on Dean's chest.

"I think it would be wise to end the night here," Cas's eyes are wide, lips swollen, the way he keeps his body pressed along the line of Dean's demonstrating just how hard it is for him to say, "I'm not sure I could resist the temptation if I invited you inside."

Dean leans in, placing a soft kiss at the bolt of Castiel's jaw, mumbling into his neck, "Why resist?"

Cas whines lightly as Dean lays kisses down his neck, pulling him back to crash their mouths together once again. There's no pretense of chastity in this kiss; Castiel kisses him hungrily, as though Dean is water, and he has been wandering the desert. They almost fall when the door swings open, but Dean's hands around his waist keep them upright as they break apart from each other, Dean glaring over Cas's shoulder at what can only be Gabriel's smug face.

"Guess you guys owe me a thank you." Gabriel pulls the lollipop from his mouth, "You know, for introducing you and all."

Dean just knocks his forehead against Cas's, sighing, "I'll call you in the morning, ok?"

"Yes Dean." He places one last kiss on Dean's lips, and extricates himself, stepping through his door. He glances back at Dean once before closing it, and Dean is sure Cas's blissful look is mirrored on his own face.

Making his way back home, Dean can't wipe the grin from his face. He's pretty sure he falls asleep smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Woah, back it up. You're telling me that bad joke guy has a hot brother that you charmed into the sack in less than an hour? Respect, dude!"

Charlie gets the details he'd promised her on Friday. (To her credit, she waits until after they finish epic amounts of Chinese take out to pester him about it.) He tells her about arriving, immediately embarrassing himself in front of Castiel, why Gabriel was calling in the first place, and is glossing over the sex part when she interrupts.

"Woah, back it up. You're telling me that bad joke guy—"

"Gabriel."

"Has a hot brother—"

"Cas."

"That you charmed into the sack in less than an hour."

"Yes."

"Respect, dude!" Charlie raises her hand for a high five, "So, after you and the hot brother did the dirty, what happened?"

"It was so weird, Charlie. I mean, it was weird 'cause it wasn't weird, you know?" Dean sighs, "The morning after, I wake up, and he's already working, giving fucking wifi advice in that sex voice he has. There was no real awkward 'I just met you four hours ago and we've already fucked' tension. It just felt... normal? I guess? Like I'd done it a thousand times before. I dunno, it's never been so... _easy_ with anyone else. Not even Cassie."

His phone vibrates against his knee, and it's in his hands before the chime ends. He has to fight the urge to laugh out loud at Cas's description of Gabriel's birthday party ( _It's Gabriel's heaven, except that it's also a dentist's hell. Nothing but strippers wearing candy._ ) He's in the middle of his response ( _Gabriel's heaven is a Marcy Playground song_?) when Charlie clears her throat. "So that's who you've been texting all night, then? Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dreamy?"

"How do you know it isn't Sam?" Dean's not sure how he manages to keep his face straight as he meets her eyes.

"If you texted your brother with that love struck puppy grin on your face, I'd be genuinely worried about you." She gives him a pointed look over the (frankly ridiculous) whipped cream on her ice cream. "Plus, Sam has been a senior for, what, four days? Pretty sure he's at a kegger right now, not texting big bro."

"Are you kidding? Sammy's staying at Kevin's. Mrs. Tran would put the kibosh on a party."

"I'm also sure that the first weekend of our senior year you talked a very drunk me into skinny dipping in the quarry."

Dean groans, "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"I had to ride _naked_ in the back of a police car, Dean."

"So did I!" His indignation is cut off by the chime of an incoming text ( _I don't understand that reference._ )

Charlie just rolls her eyes. "So, you've obviously got his number, and some sort of freaky soulmate chemistry. When are you gonna ask him out?"

Dean glances up from his phone sheepishly, "I, uh, he kind of already did. We went to dinner last night."

Charlie almost drops her ice cream. "You already did!? And I'm just hearing about this now?" She swats at his shoulder, "I can't believe you didn't call me! We could have had a getting ready montage!"

"It was last minute, he called me, like, forty minutes before I picked him up."

"I guess you can be excused, then."

"Gee, thanks, your Highness."

"Forgiving you is purely selfish, what would I do without my best handmaiden?" Charlie grins, "So, after the date, did he, uh, invite you in?"

"No, said he wouldn't be able to 'resist the temptation,' whatever that means."

"It means he wants your hot ass, Dean."

"Well, obviously." Dean winks at her, "Who wouldn't?"

She sighs, "So what's behind date number two?" She stands, heading toward the kitchen, "I mean, you _are_ going on a second date, right?" She calls back over her shoulder.

"Yeah," Dean says when she sits back down, "I think we're gonna catch a matinee on Sunday." 

"Great. You're due for some good karma." Charlie pats his knee (the one currently unoccupied with his phone) in what he guesses is supposed to be a comforting gesture. "I mean, your last relationship was Lisa, and that went belly up almost a year and a half ago. Plus, I know this Gabriel jackass has pretty much been cockblocking you since last August." Dean opens his mouth to speak, but she hold up a hand to silence him, "Then there was the DUI in March, followed immediately with that sprained ankle, and you catch on fire, like, all the time. Your life is the most depressing sitcom ever."

"C'mon, Charlie, it's not that bad."

"Dean. You've set yourself on fire six times this month."

Dean sputters, because, technically, she's not wrong. Usually it's only enough to put holes in his shirt, but he can't deny that welding occasionally leaves him with more scorch marks than fabric. Charlie seems to sense his discomfort and changes the subject, steering towards safer waters in the form of Moondor battle plans. They spend another hour planning a siege against the shadow orcs, trying to find attacks that could draw them out of the forest.

He closes the door behind her, after a promise to call Sunday night ("Or Monday morning," Charlie had suggested, eyebrows waggling.) He cleans up; carefully rolling his map of Moondor, storing the different colored armies in individual bags, stowing all of it in a poster tube that he is sure to hide from Sam. (His brother may know Dean spends the first Saturday of every month LARPing in the park, but he doesn't need to know how very much Dean actually cares about the outcome of those battles.)

He's washing dishes when his phone chimes again. He rushes through the last of it, leaving the silverware for tomorrow. Drying his hands sloppily, he reaches for his phone as it chimes a second time. ( _I think Gabriel's girlfriend was not informed of the theme of this party. She seems very angry_ ) ( _She threatened to set him on fire. She may actually do it, Kali is prone to pyromania_ ) Dean chuckles quietly as he types out his response ( _Sounds like a match made in heaven. Know where your fire exits are?_ ) and Cas's reply is instantaneous ( _I escaped as soon as I could, but Gabriel has my keys and may currently be burning to death_ )

Dean's halfway out the door when Cas answers, "Hello, Dean."

"Hey, I'm gonna pick you up, where are you?"

"There's no need for you to go to the trouble. I can call a cab."

"No way, Cas. I'm not leaving you waiting outside of some strip club for a fuckin' Uber at midnight." Dean sighs, climbing into his car, "Just — let me do this, okay? It'll give me peace of mind."

Castiel rattles off the address, and Dean assures him he'll be there quickly.  "Fifteen minutes, max."

"I'll just wait right here, then."

It is a truly awful strip joint, the garish neon sign bathing the parking lot in red and blue, casting strange shadows as it flashes 'LIVE GIRLS.' A single white light above the door illuminates a small crowd of smokers, an even mix of dancers and patrons; a few involved in conversation that was far too close to be polite. The lot extends around the left side of the building, dark and unwelcoming, but Castiel is no where to be seen.

Dean's mid-text when he's startled by a light knock on his passenger window. He can't keep the grin off of his face at the sight of Cas, who looks thoroughly irritated. Dean glances down to see the chrome bar firmly set in the locked position. He leans across the seat to disengage it and pops the door open, illuminating the interior as Cas climbs in. He drops his head back onto the seat, breathing deeply, once the door has closed behind him — he's almost smiling when he (finally) meets Dean's eyes, "Hello, Dean." Damn, he is never going to get tired of hearing his name in that voice.

"Hey, Cas." Dean wants nothing more than to lean forward, press his lips to Cas's, to soothe the frustration that lingers on his brow. "Rough night?"

"You could say that, yes." Dean swears Cas's eyes had flickered towards his lips, that he's leaning closer, "I think it's looking up, though." And that's it. Dean closes the gap, bringing one hand up to Castiel's jaw, presses their lips together softly. It's nothing like the other kisses they've shared; it's almost chaste, no sense of urgency in the gentle movement of mouths, and when he pulls back Cas is smiling in earnest.

With an easy quiet between them, Dean pulls out of the parking lot — he's half way to Castiel's townhouse before he realizes. "If Gabe has your keys, can you get into your house?"

Cas's brow furrows, "I don't believe I can." 

Dean takes the next left, heading home, "Well, you can —" Dean swallows in what he hopes was an inaudible way, "You could, uh, stay at my place. If you gotta work, I'll just get up early and bring you home."

"I don't work tomorrow. But I couldn't ask you to —"

"You're not askin', Cas, I'm offering." Dean glances over at him, "'Sides, what else are you gonna do?"

Castiel seems to accept this and offers no further argument, instead reaching out to where Dean's hand rests on the seat between them and tangles their fingers together. It's only a few more minutes to his place, and Dean can't help but look forward to waking up with Cas in his apartment. With the easy way Castiel has fit himself inside Dean's head, the companionable silence in which they can coexist, the undeniable chemistry between them, he's sure Cas will fit in his home in much the same way. Dean backs into his usual spot, ushers Cas up the stairs, unlocks the door, opening it wide so Cas can enter.

"So this is it; home, sweet home." And it's true — even if the walls are still painted that stale off-white of all rentals, the couch is threadbare at the corners, the counters in the kitchen are ancient Formica, the refrigerator runs loud — this place belongs to him, he carved this little chunk of life out for them, and he's damn proud of it. "Kitchen's through here, bedrooms are down that hall."

"Can I use your shower?" Cas is still standing in what Dean jokingly calls his foyer, the two by two square of linoleum that clears the swing of the door just enough for a small shoe rack. "I feel as though I'm covered in body glitter and residual 'daddy issues'."

Dean barks out a laugh, "Yeah, man. Bathroom's this way." He leads Cas down the hall, and it's all he can do not to drop a cheesy line (I'm feeling a little dirty, too, wanna save water and shower together?) Instead, he says, "Careful with the temperature — it's finicky. Hops from Antarctica to bowels of Hell in a matter of centimeters."

Dean turns to leave, resolutely not thinking about Castiel naked in his shower, water cascading down his body, the way he'd relax into the spray, the way his hands might wander — "Dean?"

He sucks in a quick breath and turns back, "Yeah, Cas?"

"I know you have done so much for me already, tonight, but I need to borrow something to sleep in." Cas looks down at his hands, "And maybe a towel."

"Sure thing. Towels are in the bathroom, next to the tub. And I'll, uh, find you something to wear." Dean takes the excuse to duck into his room as an opportunity to _get a fucking grip_. Castiel isn't here to be ogled or to fulfill some masturbatory fantasy. He just needed somewhere to be. Dean rifles through his drawers, locating the newest pair of pajama bottoms he owns, a Christmas gift from Charlie last year — black with holly leaves and berries, red lettering on the band proclaiming 'Deck thy balls with boughs of holly!' Embarrassing, maybe, but they'll have to do. 

He can hear the shower running when he steps back out into the hall, but the door is still ajar. He pushes it the rest of the way open to reveal Cas standing shirtless in his bathroom, one hand thrust under the spray, the other adjusting the knob. Despite the warning he'd given himself, his breath catches in his throat at the sight of all that skin, the taught line of toned shoulders, the dark curls starting to form at the base of his neck just begging for fingers to be twisted into. He starts lightly when Cas speaks, back still turned. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean clears his throat, "It's no problem." He sets the pants on the sink, "Just, you know, take your time, and I'll change the sheets on my bed." And, shit, now Castiel has turned to face him, and he thinks he could maybe lose himself in those eyes forever, "Not that we — you don't have to — I can sleep in Sam's room, if you —" 

Castiel cuts him off, pressing a hand to his shoulder and a kiss to his lips, "Do _you_ want to sleep in Sam's room?"

Cas is ghosting kisses along the bolt of his jaw now, and Dean swallows thickly, "Not particularly, no."

"So," Dean can feel every syllable exhaled against his neck, "we don't. And you can help me with this shower."

"You, uh, having issues with the water?"

"I think I've got it just right," Castiel worms the fingers of one hand under the hem of Dean's shirt, pulling him impossibly closer,  "Want to check it for yourself? You could join me." His bottom lip grazes Dean's earlobe, sending shivers coursing through him. And maybe Charlie was on to something, maybe karma does owe him one, because he never could have dreamed up Cas. Dean grins and crashes their lips together, pausing only to pull his shirt over his head.

He moves his hands to his fly when Castiel stops him. "Let me." Cas unzips his jeans, crouching to remove each leg, cupping the back of Dean's calves. His eyes don't leave Dean's as he stands, running his fingers lightly up Dean's legs, over the curve of his ass to rest at his lower back, just grazing the band of his boxers. Dean captures his mouth once again as he deftly unbuttons Cas's pants, pleased to find that he's wearing nothing under the khakis; he has time to wonder absently if Cas ever wears underpants before the kiss is broken, and he's met with cold air where there had just been hot skin. He opens his eyes as Castiel climbs in to his shower with a wink.

Shucking his boxers, Dean follows him into the spray (he  _had_ managed to find the perfect temperature) and presses in close. He can feel the evidence of Castiel's arousal against his thigh as he reaches past him, laying hands on his body wash. With his other hand, he pulls Cas in for a kiss, sliding his tongue in to run against the roof of the other man's mouth. He feels a shiver run through Cas's body before he pulls away, "Let's get you cleaned up before we get carried away."

Cas groans lightly, but acquiesces, dropping his head to Dean's shoulder as Dean's hands work against his skin. He keeps him pressed to his chest as he works soap across his neck and back, working slowly in an effort to memorize the feeling of Cas under his hands — kneading where there's tension to elicit a beautiful litany of sounds. He pulls away reluctantly, working his hands around to his chest, massaging down the flat plane of his stomach. Steadfastly ignoring his very prominent erection, Dean finishes washing him, echoing the tenderness with which Cas had undressed him.

Dean can't help the sound that escapes him when he stands, brushing their cocks together. When Cas kisses him, it's bruising, insistent and intent. He turns them carefully in the small space, backing Dean against the wall. When he sinks to his knees, Dean wonders if maybe he was a saint in a past life, if that's what he's done to deserve this from karma. Because, for all that he's imagined this moment, nothing his mind has conjured up in the last twenty four hours holds a candle to the real thing. He's got one hand gripped lightly in dark hair, groaning as Cas works his tongue sinfully against the base of his cock, swallowing around his length.

He can feel himself growing close to the edge, hips stuttering forward as Cas pulls back to flatten his tongue against the head. He whimpers when he feels a hand come up to cup his balls, "Cas, I —" the hand caressing his balls shifts up to grip the base of his cock, "Cas, _fuck._ " he breathes when Cas pulls off, running his hand loosely along Dean's shaft, enough to keep him close to that edge, but no where near enough to send him over. It's a blissful sort of torture.

Still on his knees, Castiel meets Dean's eye, "What do you want, Dean?"

Dean pulls him up, slotting their mouths together, tasting himself on his tongue. "I want you to fuck me," he whispers against Cas's lips, feeling him grin into the next kiss. "But not here."

Dean moves to pass Cas, to lead him out of the shower and into his bed, when he's pulled into an inexplicably chaste kiss, completely at odds with the insistent feeling of an erection against his side, the twitch of hips as Dean draws closer. Cas moves then, extricating himself, running soap slick hands down the planes of Dean's shoulder blades, the backs of his thighs and up to press in where Dean wants them the most. Cas teases at his hole, reaching forward to run a hand across his balls, and back, catching a fingertip on the rim, applying pressure, but not _enough_ , not nearly enough. He rocks back as Cas pushes inside, feels lips at his neck, a hand at his shoulder, feels the words puffed out against his skin, barely audible over the spray of quickly cooling water.

 Castiel works him open slowly, and Dean's glad for the cool shower when a finger pad grazes his prostate, almost sending him hurtling over the edge. Instead he gasps out a soft, "Casti- _el_ ," and pulls Cas toward himself, rinsing them both in the lukewarm water.

Cas removes his hand slowly, rotating to catch Dean's mouth in a heated kiss before shutting the shower off, "I believe you said something about a bed?"

This time he allows Dean to lead them from the bathroom, one towel between them, and Dean's never been so glad his bedroom is the closest to the bathroom. There's no need to remove his lips from Castiel as he guides him backwards across the hall, crowding him against the doorframe, sucking a bruise just below his collarbone, grinning into the skin of his neck when Cas takes the initiative to push him the rest of the way into the bedroom. He feels the backs of his knees hit mattress, and lets himself fall, drinking in the sight before him. His bedside light is still on, illuminating an expanse of lightly tanned skin; his eyes follow a bead of water down his chest, his stomach, lingering at his cock, hard and leaking, before trailing back up to meet Castiel's, deep cerulean and lust blown.

Dean is suddenly very aware of his own arousal vibrating through his body. He's not sure who moves first, but they're quickly tangled up in each other, hands roaming, hips rocking together. " _Cas_ ," He breathes, "I gotta get into my nightstand." It takes Castiel a minute to get with the program, but he's soon pulling away so Dean can sit up and rifle through the drawer, easily finding the smooth plastic bottle and relieved to feel the sharp edge inside of what could have been a disappointingly empty box.

As soon as he closes the drawer, Cas is manhandling him up the bed, taking the bottle from his hands, snapping it open. He squeezes a generous amount into his hand and wastes no time in prepping Dean. He has one leg thrown over his shoulder as he works the second finger in, moving to a third when Dean begins to squirm, panting out praise and profanity. Cas is stretching him open and it's almost too much, he can feel the precome running down the side of his cock, and it takes everything in him not to be patient.

When the fourth finger slips in and Cas grazes his prostate again, he breaks, begging for more, asking Cas to fill him up, to fuck him, _now_ , please. Dean watches in anticipation as he rolls the condom on and lines himself up. He lifts Dean's hips and then he's sliding in. Dean feels his calf pressing down on the bone of Cas's shoulder as he acclimates to the feeling, rocking himself lightly when Cas stills, panting, fully seated inside of him.

God, it's been so long since he was filled up like this. Years. He'd forgotten just how much he enjoyed it. And then Cas starts moving, and everything goes white around the edges — he's aware of the slow drag of the cock filling him up, of the way Castiel chants his name in rasping whispers and hoarse moans, of the heat building in his groin. He shudders as Cas shifts him again, nudging against his prostate, thrusts coming quicker, more erratic, and Dean lets go, coming with Cas's name on his lips, clenching around his cock. He feels Cas's hips stutter against him as he does, feels fingertips bruising his hips, holding him in place as he driven into once, twice more before Cas stills.

They hold the position for a moment, both lost in bliss. All too soon, Cas is pulling out, kissing his knee, guiding it back down and groping for the towel they had abandoned. He cleans up before curling into Dean's side, pressing sleepy kisses against his collarbone, and Dean has regained enough control of his body to wrap an arm around his shoulders, to draw him in a little closer as he drifts off.

 

 

He wakes up in an empty bed, an empty apartment, and disappointment washes through him — it's barely seven thirty, and the other side of the bed is already cold. Dejected, he heads back across the hall to the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light, and starts the shower running. He doesn't care when he's assaulted with frigid water, nor does he care when the water makes a violent switch, heat turning his skin pink. He wants to wash the sour feeling off, the vain expectation that Cas would be there when he woke, the magnetic draw he feels to the man.

He washes himself thoroughly, carefully keeping his mind occupied with anything but the last time he had been in this shower — he rebuilds engines in his head, takes apart transmissions, contemplates the eventual heat death of the universe. He even uses Sam's face scrub, pulling it down his neck, working the last beads off on his chest. He steps out, almost slipping on his discarded boxers from the night before, kicking them across the room to rest against the laundry basket as he wraps a towel around his waist. He grabs his toothbrush from the cup on the sink, squeezing toothpaste onto the bristles, and scrubs roughly at his mouth, trying to erase the taste of Castiel with the weird cinnamon toothpaste Sam buys.

He spits and gargles, rinsing his brush and replacing it next to Sam's orange one. He runs a hand across his jaw, figures he doesn't need to shave today, because who's here to care? He twists the blinds in his room open, finding sweat pants in the low light that filters through. He hears someone rattling around in the kitchen, smells coffee on the air, and steels himself, grabbing a shirt, and putting on a jovial face (there's _no way_ he's explaining his bad mood to Sammy).

"Thought Mrs. Tran was takin' you to some TEDtalk thing today?" Dean calls through the fabric of his t-shirt as he rounds the corner into the kitchen.

"I don't know a Mrs. Tran. I certainly hope she isn't expecting me anywhere."

That is _not_ Sammy. He pops his head through to meet amused blue eyes and something catches in his chest. He feels a grin stretch across his face at the sight of Castiel — he's wearing the pants Dean had left in the bathroom last night, standing in Dean's kitchen like he belonged there, faint bruises peeking from the stretched out collar of _Dean's_ Metallica tee. Fuck. It hadn't occurred to him how good Cas was going to look in his clothing.

"You were out of, well, everything," Cas continues, stepping forward cautiously, "I was hoping to be back before you woke up."

Unable to suppress the joy that has filled him since realizing who, exactly, was making coffee in his kitchen, he closes the distance between them, cups Cas's face in his hands and presses a soft kiss to his lips. Cas chases his mouth when he pulls away, wrapping an arm around Dean's waist to pull him back in, tongue darting between parted lips briefly before this kiss, too, is broken. Dean presses his forehead against Cas's, eyes closed, hesitant to break the silence, rupture this small bubble of perfection he's walked into. It's a moment more intimate than any of the ones they'd shared last night. It's unbelievable, the level of comfort he feels with Cas; it hardly feels like they had only just met. More it felt like they had known each other once, long ago, and were now reunited.

"I also bought breakfast." Castiel speaks quietly, almost as though he, too, is afraid to disrupt the purity of the moment.

Dean opens his eyes, "Damn, Cas, and just when I thought you couldn't be any more perfect."

"I was hungry," he says, pulling out of Dean's arms, pouring cups for them both, "A friend of mine used to work a few blocks from here, a small café and comic store." He hands Dean his mug, taking a sip from his own. "They do fresh ground beans, if you know to ask."

Dean knows the place, Charlie has frequented it for years, but he rarely does, just the odd Saturday of Moondor. Cas pulls wrapped sandwiches from the plain brown bag on the counter, handing one to Dean. Scrawled on the paper in black sharpie is the word ' _Batman,_ ' which he knows is a bacon, egg, and cheese bagel, (his usual order). He watches Cas unwrap his own, (ham and egg on a biscuit; the _Superman_ , if Dean's not mistaken) watches him bite into it appreciatively.

He's supposed to work from three to seven today, (Bobby's solution for all the nine-to-fivers that pour in on Saturday afternoons), it's just past nine now, and Dean knows he has a few hours of things on his to-do list. He tells Cas, reluctantly, that they've got to head out within the hour.

"You're taking me home?"

Dean rubs hand against the back of his neck, "I mean, yeah? Unless you're into running errands with me, but it's all lame stuff," Dean has his metaphorical fingers crossed Cas will come with him, he hates doing this crap alone. "You know, groceries, Home Depot — I gotta go to the bank."

Cas shrugs, "I'd have to track down Gabriel to get in my house, and I know _he's_ not awake yet." He grimaces, "Which means I'd have to call Kali. I'd much rather accompany you. Even if you were going to the _DMV_."

He's spent every minute since seeing Cas in his kitchen, his clothes, in a golden glow — he honestly didn't believe it possible, but that golden feeling swells inside of him, so much so he thinks the joy must shine from his skin.

"Besides," Cas says, "I need to do some grocery shopping myself."

As Cas collects his things, he wonders how he didn't notice Castiel's clothing still strewn across the bathroom. _Because you were too busy wallowing in self pity, jackass,_ a bitter voice reminds him, but he swats it away, pushes that doubt to the back of his mind. He quickly swaps his sweats for a pair of jeans, keeping the plain black tee he'd pulled on after his shower; heads back into the kitchen, pours another cup of coffee, and waits for Castiel.

It's not long before he emerges from the bathroom, back in his khakis from last night, still wearing Dean's shirt. And, yeah, maybe Dean's mouth goes a _little_ dry at the sight, maybe he pulls his bottom lip into his mouth _slightly_ , but who could blame him? The pants hug Cas's ass perfectly, and, were Cas in the button up he'd worn over here, he'd never get the thrill of glimpsing the bruises flirting with the edge of Cas's collar. Dean might also hurry them out the door, but only so he doesn't hurry them back to his bedroom.

As they hunt through Home Depot, searching for fluorescent light bulbs, Cas tells him about the time Gabriel peed into a display toilet, "And he wasn't as young as you want him to be."

The look on Cas's face as he finishes has Dean all but collapsing with laughter in the check out line, wiping his eyes as he swipes his card and selects yes, twenty-three dollars and sixteen cents is the amount he's agreed to pay for this transaction.

On the way to the bank, he asks Cas about his schedule, sending him into a long explanation of call time averages and distribution of service. "The worst, though, is late night. Ninety-nine percent of people calling tech support at midnight are drunk, or stoned, or both. That's the shift they start people on. It's like sending people to Hell to see if they break."

Dean chuckles as he sends the plastic carrier through the pneumatic tube to the drive-thru teller. He's about to ask who's calling in at seven in the morning when he's interrupted by the crackle of the speaker, "Good morning, Mr. Winchester, how can I help you today?"

"I'd just like to deposit that check, half in checking, half in savings?"

"Ok!" She's almost too perky for eleven am, "I'll send your receipt right out! Is there anything else I can do for you today?"

"That'll be everything, darlin', thanks."

"No problem, have a great weekend!"

There's another minute of delay before the door slides open so Dean can reach in to retrieve his license. He shoves the carrier back in for the truck behind him and pulls out carefully, steering himself onto the highway. The grocery store is less than a mile away, and he almost drives past it, content to just ride around with Cas. Even the heat seems bearable as the breeze whips between them.

Once inside the store, Dean expects Cas to branch off, find the things he needs — he's pleasantly surprised when Cas just pushes his cart along beside Dean, pausing every so often when he spots something. He's relieved. He hates grocery shopping alone. It used to be, every Saturday, he and Sam would grab breakfast at the diner, deposit Dean's check, and do the shopping together. Now, more often than not, he does it alone. Sammy still tags along sometimes, whining about the processed foods he puts in the cart, trying to talk him into shopping at the farmer's market; waxing poetic over swiss chard, arugula, and locally sourced beef.

Shopping with Cas is something else entirely. He takes his time, often stopping in the middles of an aisle to compare two different brands, finding the best deals. He 's the only person Dean's met who buys plain ramen noodles — when Dean mentions it, he shrugs it off, "I often find I can make a better broth," and offers to make Dean a bowl, sometime.

It actually turns out to be a very informative trip; he learns that Cas speaks fluent Spanish, as well as Mandarin, Russian, and German. As well as what he describes as 'passable Hebrew.' (Dean thinks any proficiency in a dead language could be considered 'passable.') "So, uh, what language is Castiel from?"

Dean can tell he gets this question often, the answer spouts out so quickly, "It's from an ancient religious language. It's actually believed to be the name of an angel."

"Your parents, they were, like, mega religious, then, huh?"

"In a way." Cas shifts his eyes back to the aisle in front of them, "My mother studied extra-biblical literature. Wrote her dissertation on the book of Enoch."

Dean can see the tense line of his shoulders, the way he rushed through the past tense when talking about his mother. "My mom — she used to tell me that angels were watching over me." He can feel Cas swing his focus back to Dean as he continues, "She wasn't really religious or anything, but I remember her saying that to me as she tucked me in at night."

He's not expecting the arms wrapping around his middle, warm and solid and comforting. He brings his own arms up, allowing Cas to draw him closer, inhaling the smell of his own body wash on Cas's skin, at once familiar and foreign. He's not sure how long they hold each other, and when they break apart, there's a soft, sad sort of smile playing at Castiel's lips. But they don't talk about it, whatever that moment was; he doesn't ask how or when or any of the other million questions running through his mind, and neither does Cas. Instead, they resume shopping, as though they hadn't just confessed in the international foods aisle, and it strikes Dean that this is the first time he's told someone, anyone, about his mom that he _didn't_ have to answer inquiries about her death. That he could just say it and not be bombarded with platitudes and apologies. It's refreshing to know someone who gets it, the down deep sorrow that comes with losing your mother, the way it never really leaves you.

The rest of their morning is subdued, but no less enjoyable, conversation straying into safer territory; Dean brags about Sam's SAT score ("twenty-one hundred, the braniac."), Cas talks about moving to town a couple years ago, how he'd been taken with the city amenities and small town charm of the place. When Dean parallel parks across the street from Cas's townhome, he offers to help him carry everything in, but Cas turns him down simply, "It's almost two, and you have to work at three. I wouldn't want to be responsible for making you late," before collecting his bags and heading across the street. Dean waits to see the door open, see Cas disappear inside, and cuts a tight three (or four, but who's counting) point turn, heading to his apartment.

 

Mrs. Tran drops Sam off at eight that night, and the little shit picks up on Dean's mood immediately, pestering him with questions, "Is there something I should know? You didn't win the lottery, right?"

"Shut up and eat your dinner, Sammy." He tries to growl it out in his best Bobby impression, but he fails to do anything other than send his brother into fits of laughter.

"So, what, you got laid?" Sam broaches the topic again while they wash up after dinner, "C'mon, Dean, I know it's something. You're _humming_ and washing dishes. You're never this happy."

"Hey!" Dean cries, indignant, "I'm a happy fuckin' person."

"Sure, Dean." Sam rolls his eyes, grinning, but quickly changes topic. "You don't mind if I go over Andy's tomorrow, right? He just got the new Call of Duty, and he says he'll come pick me up."

"Andy? That's the one with the van? And all the..." Dean pinches his thumb and forefinger together, bringing them to his lips and making an exaggerated inhaling sound, raising an eyebrow, "Am I right?"

"Wha - I - we don - he doe - it's not —" Sam stammers.  

"Sammy, we both know I'm the last one to hold a little weed against a person. S'long as it ain't interfering with your school." Dean punctuates the sentence with a finger wagged in his direction. Sam just rolls his eyes and finishes putting the silverware away.

Dean drops onto the couch, twisting the top off a beer when his phone chimes in his pocket, ( _I think this morning was the most fun I've had at the grocer. Thank you for allowing me to accompany you._ )

>> _No problem, man. I hate doing that shit alone so I should be thanking you._

He's barely sent the message before the next one comes in

<< _I also thoroughly enjoyed last night._

>> _anything specific? Or the night as a whole? ;)_  

<< _I did particularly enjoy having your cock in my mouth._

Dean almost drops his phone, because, fuck, Cas doesn't play around. He's busy wrapping his head around the idea that this is actually happening right now when the next message comes in.

<< _I think next time I'd like to make you come like that._

He makes a strangled noise in his throat and stands abruptly, offering a quick "'Night," to his brother and quickly heading for his room, typing hastily on his way.

>> _oh yeah? ;)_

Okay, so it's not the most elegant message — the kind of lazy sext he hates to receive, but he's had no build up. Sam was still in the room, for Christ's sake. He went from friendly conversation to half hard in one message.

<< _Yes._

<< _The sounds you made were very arousing, Dean._

And this is maybe the most grammatically correct sexting he's ever experienced, but he can just imagine Castiel growling it in his ear, and he's not sure he's ever been turned on so quickly in his life. He reclines on his bed, undoing his fly to relieve the building pressure. He rubs the heel of his hand against himself through the boxers and groans lightly, typing a reply one handed.

>> _i'd be open to repeat performances. just thinking about that mouth has me hard._

<< _I'd like to taste every inch of you._

<< _I bet you'd open up so nicely on my tongue._

Jesus Christ, that's hot. Dean remembers just how sinfully Cas had worked his tongue on other parts of him — the idea of being fucked open with the wet slide of it inside of him has his cock standing at full attention.

>> _can't wait to get hands back on you_

>> _do you know what you do to me?_

>> _just your voice, god._

<< _Are you touching yourself?_

>> _not yet._

>> _are you?_

<< _Yes._

Dean swallows thickly at the image — Cas, hard and leaking, running his hand along his cock, reaching down every couple strokes to give his balls a squeeze, maybe tease at his own hole.

<< _Are you alone?_

>> _yes_

Not even a minute passes before his phone vibrates in his hand with an incoming call.

"Hey, Cas," he sighs, finally reaching past the band of his boxers to grasp his cock.

"Dean," Fuck, Cas is practically panting over the line, voice lower than usual as he purrs Dean's name. He can't help the moan that escapes him at the sound. 

"Fuck, you sound so good right now." He squirms out of his jeans, pushing them and his boxers down to bunch at his knees as he gets a better grip on his aching cock, "Wanna hear all the sounds you make when I ride that cock."

Cas's breathing speeds up and he lets out a low whine. "Yes, _Dean_ ," and the way he says Dean's name, it sounds almost like a prayer, like a swear, the way it falls from his mouth. "Dean, I'm so _close_. I've been thinking about you all day, about having you again, about feeling you inside me, filling me up."

Dean lets out a groan, tightening his grip, adding the little twist at the head that he knows will rush him towards that edge, "Fuck, Cas, you felt so good around my cock, gonna make you scream my name, gonna —" he's cut off by a beautiful moan from the other end, and he gasps in response, balancing the phone on his shoulder to reach down and fondle his balls.

"Tell me what you're doing, Dean." How can he sound so authoritative and yet so desperate? However he's doing it, it's doing things for Dean, and so be obeys, describing every movement he makes, until he can't form words anymore, until the only sounds he can make are, "Fuck," and "Cas," and these breathy little moans that drive Cas wild. He can feel his balls tightening, the way the pool of heat in his groin feels ready to explode, and from the sound of things, Cas is pretty close, too, if his speechlessness is any indication.

Dean comes in his hand with Castiel's name on his lips, immensely satisfied to hear Cas groan loudly shortly after, keeping the line open as their heart rates normalize, listening to Cas catch his breath as he searches, one handed, for the tissues he knows should be within arm's reach. He cleans himself up,  kicks his jeans the rest of the way off, tucking himself back into his boxers, and rolls so that the phone is pressed between his ear and the pillow, listening to the soft rustling through the line as Cas (presumably) cleans up.

 They don't say much, but neither wants to be the one to hang up. Dean's not sure when he fell asleep, but he wakes with his phone still pressed between his cheek and pillow, blaring his alarm in his ear. It's Sunday, Bobby's is closed today, and Dean silences it, rolling over to drift into dreams about smooth skin and gummy smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, second chapter, y'all. I hope it lived up to expectations. Originally intended the phone sex/sexting to be the night of Gabriel's birthday, and the rest of the chapter to be the movie/lunch date Sunday, but, well, Cas is just one forward motherfucker.  
> As always, muchos gracias to my faithful beta, chakaswan, without whom I would never be confident enough to write smut.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all haven't forgotten about me! I'm so sorry this took over a year! I hope you love it as much as I do!

Dean wakes to the sound of his phone ringing at quarter to midnight, according to the clock on his nightstand. He groans, groping for the offending object in the dark, answers without bothering to check who it is. "'Lo?"

"Hello, Dean."

He grins, pulling the plug from his phone, and rolls to his side, burrowing back into the comforter. "Hey Cas, how's Houston?"

"Far too warm for January." He catches the edge of indignation in Cas's voice, as though the state of Texas has insulted him by being hot, "I'll be glad to be home. I don't think I've gotten a decent nights' sleep since I left."

"That makes two of us, babe," Dean yawns. "Only six hours 'til your flight, though — three hours in the air, and I'll be waitin' for you."

"I just wish you didn't have to pick me up at the airport on your _birthday_. I'm sor —"

"Cas, stop 'pologizin'. I wanna do it, s'not your fault they sentcha." Dean stifles another yawn, glancing at the clock, "'sides, it's 'ficially the twen'y fourth, y'can't argue w'me, s'my birthday.

"Happy birthday, Dean. I'll let you go back to sleep — I just wanted to be the first one to say it."

He's not sure he says anything intelligible before sleep catches him again.

 

When Dean wakes the second time it's to his six forty-five alarm. He's still bundled up, practically sweating beneath the full bulk of his comforter, and he never thought he would miss Cas bogarting all the covers, but he does right now. What he wouldn't give to have waken up with his boyfriend already in his bed. ( _Their_ bed _._ ) Sighing, he kicks his way out of the comforter cocoon into the cold. 

He smacks a hand against the bathroom door as he passes, "Better hurry up with that shower, Samantha!" At six fifty he's mostly dressed; jeans and a t-shirt, sweater draped on a kitchen chair, coffee in hand. His phone chimes with a message from Cas. ( _Boarding now, see you_ _soon_.) By six fifty-five, he's pounding on the bathroom door, "Sammy, if you're not out of there in two minutes, I'll  —"

The door swings open, cutting off what was sure to be an eloquent and well crafted threat. "Jesus, Dean. I was brushing my teeth, not building pipe bombs. You didn't have to go all Gestapo on the door."

"Yeah, well, your face is all Gestapo." Dean winces as Sam guffaws, because, yeah, that was definitely not his best comeback. "Whatever. We gotta go."

"Sure thing, but, Dean?"

"What?" He snaps, whirling back to face his brother.

"Don't you want to brush your teeth before seeing your boyfriend?"

 

At seven fifteen, Dean is anxiously tapping the steering wheel in the drop off line outside of the high school. It's backed up around the block — even if Sam got out right now, he'd still be stuck for at _least_ another ten minutes. He's half-listening to Sam prattle on about some girl while his other hand navigates deftly through his phone, pulling up his flight tracker app, relieved to see the little green plane still soaring across the Midwest. 

"Dean?" Sam cranes his neck to see his brother's phone, "Are you even listening to me?"

"Wha- Yeah." And he had been, kind of. "You like this girl Madison, so ask her out."

Sam rolls his eyes. "So you totally _weren't_ listening," he huffs. "You know I was supposed to go to Kevin's last weekend, right? But then I got invited to Laura's party, and his mom wouldn't let him go."

"Big surprise there. Linda Tran wouldn't know a good time if it bit her on the ass."

"Dean, will you just — it's your fault I have to say all this again, can you let me finish?"

Dean spreads his fingers, palm still pressed to the steering wheel as the car inches forward. "Fine, go ahead Sammy. Finish your story."

"So anyway, Kev got mad that I blew him off, or whatever, which is stupid, since I hang out with him all the time, and it's not my fault Mrs. Tran said he couldn't go."

"What's this got to do with Madison?"

"I'm getting there." Sam sighs, "So I'm at the party, right? Having a good time, just hanging out, when this girl, Madison, comes up to talk to me. And one thing leads to another, we wind up making out in Laura's laundry room. That was Saturday night. And Kevin has been, like, cold shouldering me since then. I thought it was just him being petty and ridiculous, so yesterday I confronted him about it in study hall. Turns out that Madison snapped a picture of us together to her story. And Kevin's had a crush on her for like, three years. So _of course_ he's following her." He throws his hands up, "I didn't even know he _liked_ her, Dean!"

Dean cuts his eyes from the bumper sticker on the Civic in front of him, looking over at Sam. "Do _you_ like her?" 

"I mean, she's cool and all..."

"But not cool enough to risk your friendship with Kevin."

"Not really, no."

"I think you have your answer, Sammy." Dean (finally) gets to the drop off, "I know you'll do the right thing."

"You really think Kev'll forgive me?"

"I'm sure, now hop out, I gotta get on the road"

"I'm glad Cas is coming home, maybe now you won't be such a jerk." Sam climbs out of the car, laughing as he closes the door behind him.

"Get to class, bitch." Dean can't help the grin that stretches across his face as he pulls away from the high school.

 

Flight 627 out of Houston lands, as scheduled, at nine forty-five. He catches his first glimpse of Cas at nine fifty; tie askew, hair standing on end as though he'd run his hands through it twenty or thirty times, and he's the most beautiful thing Dean's ever seen. The time it takes Cas to walk to the car feel like the longest fifteen minutes of the last three weeks, but he fights the urge to meet him halfway, to sweep Cas up in his arms, kiss him passionately in the middle of the concourse, like they're in a goddamn chick flick. Instead; he pops the trunk, stows Castiel's bag, kisses him chastely; before wrapping his arms around him, reveling in the realness of it, the solid feeling that can't be replaced by any number of hours spent Skype calling.

There aren't words, in those first few moments — just the warm feeling of Cas's arms wrapped around his waist; the way his shoulder sits perfectly beneath Dean's chin, as if he were made to fit there. And it should scare him; the way he feels, how he wants Cas around, always. But it doesn't. With Cas, his insecurities melt away — even the ghost of John Winchester rattling around in the back of his head shuts (the _fuck_ ) up.

"I missed you," And Dean doesn't miss the subtle tightening of the arms around his abdomen, or the way Castiel's lips brush his neck in all the right places as he speaks.

"Jesus, it's good to have you back." He (reluctantly) breaks their embrace, stepping back to hold the passenger door open so Cas can climb inside. He all but runs to the driver's side, pleased when Cas scoots closer to him, with the hand that comes to rest on his knee. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

 

Once they're clear of the city, Dean leaves the interstate behind; rolling down two lane highways in his baby, Cas by his side, he's not sure his life can get any better than this. That is, until the hand on his knee slides up his thigh. Castiel is mid-sentence as his thumb rubs slow circles against Dean's leg, fingers dancing along his inseam. He tries to listen as Cas describes some meeting he was in, distracted by that hand sliding further up. Dean's focus is divided between the road and the warmth pooling in his groin, and Cas could be expoundung the merits of cat ownership, for all that he knows.

Dean can practically hear his heart hammering in his chest as Cas closes those final inches, palming him through his jeans. The warm press of his hand is maddeningly light, serving only to remind Dean how very much he'd like all of the brunette pressed against him. He chances a glance to his right when Cas stops talking, momentarily meeting mischievous blue eyes. When those deft fingers move to his fly, he's glad — his pants were growing uncomfortably tight. The relief is only momentary; as soon as he's unzipped, those fingers are diving below the waistband of his boxers, wrapping around his shaft.

He's not sure how he manages to keep the car straight as Cas strokes him to a full erection, white knuckling the steering wheel when he feels a palm swipe over his head, spreading pre-come back down his length. "Cas," he chokes out, "Cas, you gotta —" _stop_ is what he was going to say, but it's at that moment Castiel leans forward, flattening his tongue against the slit, and Dean's brain can't formulate words anymore.

It's a goddamn miracle, that he somehow safely parks the Impala on some little dirt pull off, that he didn't hit a ditch or a tree or even a squirrel. Because Cas is currently swallowing around his cock, tongue working sinfully along the underside of the head, fingers stroking the soft skin behind his balls. He can feel Cas's other hand against his hip, fingers ghosting over the newly exposed skin, and Dean drops his head back, eyes sliding shut, lost in sensation.

The whine he lets out when Cas pulls off is less than dignified. He'd been so close, electricity shooting through his veins, eyes trying to roll beneath closed lids, the slightest tremble working up his legs, and now his cock is aching, saliva cooling against heated flesh. There's rustling in the seat next to him, the sound of a zipper being pulled, followed by a throaty groan that has Dean's dick twitching. He's no sooner opened his eyes than he has a lapful of Castiel claiming his mouth in a bruising kiss, hips pressed together deliciously.

Dean trails his hands up Cas's clothed chest, working the buttons open, pulling away to mouth at his throat, sucking marks to claim this beautiful force of nature that he's been lucky enough to find. "Amazing," he murmurs against tanned skin, "perfect," he groans as a hand wraps around them both, " _jesusfuck_ ," he exhales as Castiel starts to gyrate into his hand, ' _I love you,'_ he bites back as he comes.

Cas's shirt is all but ruined, and Dean's more than a little glad it means he'll be riding shirtless (even if dress slacks and no shirt is a completely ridiculous look.) They take a minute to catch their breath, exchanging soft kisses in the afterglow. Dean pulls back out on the road, right hand clasped tightly in Cas's left.

 

An hour later, Dean's stomach voices its protests at being neglected. The place he stops probably shares square footage with his apartment, and looks kitschy as all hell, but claims to have the best burgers in the state. Cas grumbles about Dean's bottomless pit of a stomach and pops the trunk to fish a shirt out of his bag. Dean waits at the front of the car, flipping his keys around his fingers, humming lightly. When the trunk slams shut, he looks over, Cas is wearing Dean's ancient Metallica tee, and the warm rush that floods through him when he realizes that Cas had to have consciously packed it is overwhelming. It's an epiphany, the swiftness of it like a punch to the gut; _Cas loves him._ Dean has known the depth of his own feelings for a while, now, but he hadn't considered that it could get better, that Cas loving him would feel so heady and intense. He pulls the other man forward by the aforementioned shirt, pressing their lips together, and tries to pour that warm feeling into the kiss, to convey with his body what he has been too scared to say out loud.

He pulls back, leans his forehead against Cas's, "I fuckin' love —" _seeing you in my clothing_ , he means to say, or maybe _the way your mouth tastes,_ or any number of other things he loves about this moment, but what it all boils down to is, "— you." The last word is barely a whisper, like it's a great secret between them. In the silence that follows his admission, Dean begins to panic. What if he's wrong? What if it's too soon? He doesn't move, but he doesn't open his eyes either. Maybe Cas didn't hear him, maybe —

This time, it's Cas pulling Dean in; molding their lips together, fingers carding through short hair. "I love you, too," Cas exhales against his lips before Dean's pressed against the warm metal of his car. It's a blissful fifteen minutes before Cas huffs a laugh against his cheek, "I can _feel_ your stomach growling."

Dean blushes, but hurries Cas inside anyway. The place is mostly deserted, but he can tell they'd just missed a rather large lunch rush. It's just as kitschy as the exterior promised it would be; there doesn't seem to be a single matching chair, the tables themselves are disparate heights, different styles — it's as if the owner had bought out six or seven garage sales worth of furniture and tchotchkes and decided to justify her decision by designing a restaurant around it. The walls are adorned with old movie posters, bronzed baby shoes, there's a nonsensically-placed, full-sized carousel horse in the center of the floor.

Fortunately, the burgers are also as good as promised. Dean groans around the first bite, proceeding to devour half his burger in record time. He pauses, setting the burger down to sip his coke, "Your brother's gonna be pissed."

Cas's brow furrows quizzically, head canting slightly left, asking for clarification without the need to stop eating.

"'Cause Gabe's burgers aren't better than these," Dean winks. "Almost wish _this_ place was the one fifteen minutes from my front door. Whaddaya say, Cas?" He chuckles, "I could commute, and you work from home, we could move out here when Sammy leaves for school." And that sentence had felt like a much better decision before it came out of his mouth. _(I shouldn't've said that, oh fuck, I REALLY shouldn't have said that, why-the-fuck-did-you-say-that-you-stupid-fucking-asshole.)_ Because this thing between them is big, and having Cas away for so long was almost devastating, and he's serious, it's not a joke, it's something he's been thinking about for the last week, something that's been kicking its way to the forefront of his brain since Sammy got that big envelope from Stanford. Something he _wants_ , deep down in his bones. 

"I was thinking you could move into my place, actually." Cas shrugs, "Gabriel called me last week, he and Kali are moving into Chicago."

The way Cas says it seems nonchalant, but Dean's become well versed in his body language; the way his shoulders contract, the hand fidgeting with his napkin, twisting one corner into a sharp point; it says Cas is just as uncomfortable with having this conversation as he is. The steadfast way blue eyes meet his own say that Cas wants this every bit as much as he does. He's once again flooded with affection for the man, reaches across the table to still his hand, "Okay."

Dean thinks he might be willing to trade the sun for the light of Castiel's smile.

 

Dean's phone chimes as they roll into town, and he fishes it out of his pocket, eyes on the road. "Read this for me, babe?"

Cas takes the phone, quickly typing in the password, "It's from Charlie. She says she's got Sam, and she'll see us at the party." There's another chime, and Cas clears his throat. "She also wants you to have fun 'riding that disco stick.'" Dean can feel the air quotes Cas puts around the phrase, almost laughs out loud at the seriousness with which he delivers Lady Gaga lyrics.

 

There's tension in the air when the Impala rolls to a stop in front of Cas's townhouse, but it's a pleasant, giddy kind. Dean pops the trunk and pulls the suitcase out, carrying it inside to be promptly abandoned when the door swings shut and he's suddenly got an armful of Castiel. He finds himself crowded against the cool surface of the front door as Cas's mouth stops centimeters from his own. "Say it again."

He doesn't need clarification, whispering "I love you," into the space between them before claiming Cas's lips in a soft kiss. "I love you," he murmurs against an earlobe, catching it lightly between his teeth. "I love you," he breathes against freshly bruising bite marks.

He can feel Castiel hardening against him as he chants admiration into his collarbone, enjoys the slow circles his hips are making, the soft sounds that fall from his mouth as Dean lowers himself to his knees. He makes quick work of the fly, as pants drop to pool around his partner's feet he leans in to nibble at his hip, to run the tip of his tongue across the sensitive skin above the waistband of plaid boxers, to kiss the sparse line of hair leading below them. "I love you," he sighs as he removes this last garment, Castiel quivering above him, bracing his arms against the door as Dean runs a tongue up his length.

He's missed this — the weight of Castiel in his mouth, the taste of him invading his senses, the smooth sensation of his tongue against hard cock. He works his way down slowly, taking his time to memorize the feel of him on his tongue, the way he can feel the muscles of his back flex, as though to stop himself from thrusting deeper into Dean's mouth. He works his tongue around the head, dipping into the slit quickly before darting around once again as he pushes further, swallowing as he feels that nudge at the back of his throat.

He can hear Cas coming apart above him when he pulls off, gripping the base firmly, looking up through his lashes to meet electric blue eyes. Even blown wide with lust, Dean can still sense the love in his gaze and he's hit, once again, with the beautiful truth of his life. It's like a balloon swelling in his chest, the joy that fills him in that moment, the bouyant way Castiel's affection makes him feel. Before he realizes he's moving, he's surged upwards, pressing against Cas, claiming his mouth, pushing him back towards the kitchen, the stairs.

He feels hands at his fly, and he's suddenly struck by just how over dressed he is, still in jeans and boots, when Castiel is wearing nothing but the borrowed band shirt. Dean pulls his own shirt over his head, breaking the kiss to do so, gasping as slender fingers work over his torso, thumbs ghosting over pert nipples. The sensation is coupled with the sting of teeth at his neck, working diligently toward the spot under his ear that seems to share nerve endings with his dick. Sliding his hands down, he kneads at the firm muscles of Cas's ass before slipping further to hoist strong legs around his waist. He climbs the stairs slowly, each step impeded by Castiel's progress up the line of his neck.

At the top, he turns, pinning Cas against the bedroom door, groping for the doorknob. When he locatēs it and the door swings inward, they collapse into a heap, arms and legs tangled together, half-in and half-out of the room. He can feel Cas shaking beneath him, the chuckles huffed against the skin of his chest, and he can't supress the laughter that bubbles out of him.

Dean's not sure how long it takes them to regain their composure, but when Cas presses ther lips together again, the urgency of earlier has vanished. The kisses they share now, on the scratchy carpet of Castiel's bedroom, are leisurely, a slow slide of tongues and lips. Cas works his fly the rest of the way open, but makes little effort to remove the jeans, running his hands back up Dean's chest, his neck, to cup his jaw, tongue receding, the kiss turning tender and soft before he pulls away, holding Dean's face in place as he tries to chase him down to the floor. "I love you, Dean," he whispers, rolling so that they're on their sides, untangling their limbs, pulling Dean to stand. 

Cas leads him to the bed, pushing at his chest until he falls back, catching himself on his elbows. His jeans are removed with care, the gentleness of Castiel's hands at odds with the sight of his cock hanging flushed and heavy between his legs. Dean can feel the urgency of his own arousal, bucking up slightly as a hand works under the band of his boxers. Cas takes the same care removing this last article of clothing, positioning his legs just so, before peppering the inside of Dean's thighs with kisses and affectionate nips. He feels him mouth at his balls then sink lower, tongue darting out to circle around the pink bud of his asshole. He can feel stubble scratching against the sensitive skin around his entrance, but it becomes irrelevant as Castiel's tongue breaches the tight ring.

Dean quickly relaxes into it, the warm, wet slide pulling him irrevocably closer to the edge. He's not sure how long Castiel works him open, but by time he pulls away, replacing his mouth with two slick fingers, Dean's body feels warm and pliant. He can't formulate words more complicated than "Cas," and "more," and "please," as two fingers become three, then four — until he's a writhing, begging mess.

"So beautiful," Cas murmurs from above him, and Dean glances up, taking in the way blue eyes dance over his skin.

"Need you, Cas," he chokes out, unable to restrain the whimper that escapes him with the declaration, pushing down on the hand inside of him. Cas's eyes darken as he removes his fingers, moving to open the condom when Dean stops him, fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist, "wanna feel _you_ Cas. Just you."

Cas surges forward, capturing Dean's lips briefly, "You're sure?"

With Cas pressed against him like this, Dean can feel just how hard he is, can feel the slick head of his cock leaving trails of precome against quivering thighs. He nods weakly, "Yeah, babe, 'm sure."

Castiel pulls back, and Dean watches as he runs a lubricated hand along his shaft, head falling back as he presses in. In one slow, smooth motion they are as close as two people can become. Cas sets a rhythm with his hips, a slow roll that's surely agonizing for both of them. Dean's dancing on the edge, the feeling of Cas moving bare inside of him almost enough to send him over. Curses fall from his lover's lips as he works his own hips, thrusting up every time Castiel sinks into him, urging him to go deeper, faster, harder. His unspoken request is soon fulfilled, the roll no longer smooth or steady, picking up pace toward unrelenting, catching Dean up in a crescendo of stimulation. Cas shifts them slightly, hitting the spot deep inside Dean that causes sparks to go off behind his eyes, electricity chasing through his veins as he comes violently, clenching around Castiel.

It's a new sensation, the hot feeling of come being released inside of him. Of Castiel filling him up in every possible way as he climaxes with a ragged moan. He knows they should probably get up, clean up, but he doesn't care. Right now he has exactly what he's been missing for a month, and he doesn't intend to give it up. He hisses lightly as Cas pulls out and collapses next to him, pressing sleepy kisses along his collarbone. They drift off like that, naked atop the covers, Castiel's head pillowed against his chest.

 

Dean wakes up a few hours later to a numb right arm and an aching bladder. Gently, he slides a pillow down to replace his bicep for Cas and stands, wincing at the stiff feeling in his muscles. He pads to the en suite, turning the shower on to heat up as he relieves himself. He's just stepped in when he feels arms wrap around his waist. "It's almost six," Cas grumbles into his back.

 "Guess that means we don't have time for a quickie?"

"You're insatiable." The words are smiled against his skin as Cas reaches past for the shampoo, gently nudging his way into the warm spray. 

They finish getting ready in companionable silence and constant contact, neither willing to allow the other from within arm's reach after so long a separation. Dean laces their fingers together as Cas turns to lock the door behind them, pulling him close to press lips against his forehead. "I missed the hell outta you," he whispers, wrapping his other arm tightly around Castiel's waist, reveling in the solidness of his presence.

 

The party is in full swing by time they arrive, music pouring out of the open door and into the night. Ellen hasn't quite closed the joint down for this, but Dean is still hard pressed to spot a face he doesn't know. He thinks he might even see Mrs. Tran dancing with Garth before he's got Sam and Charlie closing in on him to strap a party hat onto his head. After that the night is a blur of toasts and laughter; dancing to the outdated hits on Ellen's jukebox and drinking the strange concoctions Jo keeps mixing them. Dean's sure he's never had a better birthday - even Gabriel's presence can't bring him down; ( he guffaws loudly as Gabe and Kali waltz past dancing both out of style and off tempo to AC/DC). 

As they stumble out after midnight Cas gently pulls the keys from his hand, sliding comfortably behind the wheel to drive them home. Dean just rests his head against the cool window and watches the lights pass, drifting in and out of sleep. When they arrive back at his apartment Cas follows him inside where they collapse, still dressed, into bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it, finito, the end, alles fertig.  
> As much as I loved this prompt, I actually never intended for this to have chapters. So, naturally, it's become one of the longest (and most popular) things I've ever written. I want to thank everyone who subscribed, commented, kudo'ed or bookmarked, please leave me more.  
> Again, a million thanks to chakaswan, without whom I would be lost.

**Author's Note:**

> So, hey, thanks. Uh, let me know what you think, leave me kudos and junk ;)  
> Eternally grateful to chakaswan for beta'ing this, I'm not sure how I would have gotten past my insecurities with writing anything remotely explicit without her. I think there's gonna be one more chapter, but who knows, there might be two.  
> Prompt from awful-aus.tumblr.com — check 'em out.


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